"Can you believe that?" Clarisse asked with clear exasperation, tearing apart another piece of paper containing an answer from one of the Ministerial Translators. "No one in this place speaks Ancient Greek," she informed Jacques and he giggled at her annoyance.

"Purely outrageous," he admitted, albeit solely out of politeness.

Her friend seemed genuinely amused by her frantic behaviour and Clarisse knew that she was being a little ridiculous. But what choice did she have, if the Ministry had no need for people, who could actually help her solve this murder? She could have sworn that the French government had been smarter than that, but apparently, her life in the past few days provided her with nothing but disappointments.

Just when she was about to reach for another note with – probably- another negative answer, a letter whooshed into her office and hit her on the forehead.

"What the hell is that?" she growled angrily, while Jacques tilted his head back with roaring laughter.

Clarisse really wasn't in the mood for one of his joyous outbursts, so she grabbed the red envelope and ripped it open, before her friend managed to stop her.

"Clarisse, wait!" he exclaimed, his laughter gone in a blink of an eye, but it was too late.

"You bloody idiot!" Finley's voice roared from the insides of the letter, which had taken the form of a moving mouth.

How the hell did she manage to miss the fact, that she had received a Howler? Was she going blind?

"Do you have any idea what have you done?! You stunned me and then you left me in my classroom! Empty classroom! I lied on the floor for hours, until a student appeared there to serve a detention! He had to Rennervate me, you bloody wench!"

Oh, boy. She had never heard someone scream so loud in her entire life and she had heard a lot of different things. Her ears started to hurt after his first sentence, but nothing could have diminished the satisfaction coursing through her entire body. It served him right, that pompous jerk.

"You humiliated me in front of my students, Bouchard! This was incredibly unprofessional and way beneath a certain level that someone of your position should present!"

Really? He dared to speak about maintaining a certain level of professionalism, after he had just called her a bloody wench? Maybe he truly was a blithering idiot.

"You can be sure that your boss will hear of it. I can't wait to learn that you had been suspended or even fired. To think that you wanted me to respect you equally… Way to go, Bouchard. You had just proven that you are just like any other stupid chits – driven by emotions, highly irresponsible and plain stupid"

The satisfaction disappeared out of her body in an instant. Did he really just say all of those things?

"That son of a bitch," she muttered after the Howler exploded to pieces and the room became quiet once again.

There were no words that could have described the anger she felt. Clarisse almost wanted to go back to Scotland right away and kick his Irish ass, but she stopped herself realising that she would be forced to look at him and that thought felt incredibly repulsive.

"Auror Bouchard," her boss' stern voice sounded from behind her and she closed her eyes with exasperation.

Could her day get any worse? Because she started to feel strongly convinced that it simply wasn't possible.

"Auror Dechamps," she chirped happily and turned around with a forced smile plastered on her face. "How can I help you today?"

"You could go to my office and explain why I shouldn't fire you right away."

Great. A lecture from her boss was all she needed. Reluctantly she got up from her chair and followed Ludovic out of the room, sending a pitiful look in Jacques direction and her friend smiled sympathetically.

After she had exited her own office, she started to wonder whether she should start explaining herself now or later, but the man walking next to her answered that question for her.

"You shouldn't have stunned Auror Finley," he said in a grim tone and she sighed with annoyance.

"Fine. I let my emotions get the better of me. But he shouldn't have said that I'm delicate and unable to do my job properly. He didn't even bother to greet me at the Gates; he let me roam around Hogwarts completely alone, without any clues as to his whereabouts and he did it only because I am a woman" she said and gritted her teeth.

Her boss sighed and shook his head. He clearly wasn't happy with her behaviour, but Clarisse suspected that she was not the only one that made him displeased. Ludovic Deschamps had little to no tolerance for people who acted childish and immature and Aeadan's behaviour didn't exactly strike her as responsible.

"You two have to find a way to work things out. I don't care if you don't like him, I don't care if he doesn't like you. There are far more important things than your personal feelings."

Clarisse nodded and relaxed, realising that it would probably be the end of her reprimand. Her boss had no intentions of firing her and that qualified as great news.

Still, if he didn't want to fire her, where were they going? And why did he lie in front of Jacques? As on cue, her boss furrowed his brows and said:

"It took them a while, but Forensics claim to have all test results. I don't know what to expect, but I wanted to keep it quiet for a while. It could be good, judging by the amount of time they needed."

Clarisse rolled her eyes at that information and smirked. She hated working without any useful information regarding her current case, but the Forensics forced her to do that quite often. She couldn't deny, though, that once they had finished their analysis, results always proved to be pretty immaculate and incredibly interesting.

"One could think that a serial killer on the loose would make them work faster," she muttered and her boss agreed quietly.

"I tried to explain that to them, but I was drowned out by all of the scientific babbling coming out of their mouths."

"Well, let's just hope that they are going to provide us with something good," she sighed in response and her boss agreed quietly.

"How are the things going with that book you showed me? Did your mother translate it?"

Clarisse scratched her head with annoyance and clicked her tongue. What was she supposed to say? 'Oh, here's the thing… My mother is mad as a hatter and she refused to even touch it?'. It didn't sound all that good.

"Um… I'm working on it," she muttered and earned herself a curious glance from Deschamps.

"Clarisse, I hope you know how important it is," he said cautiously and she rolled her eyes.

No, she had become stupid over the night and forgot how to do her job. Of course, she knew. She wouldn't have spent the entire morning trying to find anyone who could help her with that damned translation.

"Yes, sir," she replied with a fake smile knowing that sharing her thoughts on that matter wasn't a good idea, especially after Finley's Howler.

Deschamps didn't need another reason to be pissed at her.

"Good. Auror Finley tells me you insisted on taking that book with you, so it wouldn't be a good thing if you failed to deliver."

Clarisse looked at him with surprise and furrowed her brows. A smug smile was tugging at her boss' mouth, making her slightly annoyed. Did he know about that entire situation with Finley before? Why hadn't he said anything?

"Did he tell you about our little fight?" she asked and Deschamps nodded, raising his eyebrows in genuine amusement.

"He didn't call it little, but yes. You had really made an impression on him. Not a good one, though."

"But if you knew, why didn't you…"

"Because he's stupid to think that I would have fired you only because you kicked his ass for all the right reasons."

She couldn't help but to smile in satisfaction at her boss' words. It was true, being an Auror hadn't been the most popular job among women, but no one in the French Auror Bureau dared to undermine her skills or authority. People seemed to accept the fact that she had been great at the job. Sure, she wasn't as strong as men, but she wielded her wand with such fierceness and precision, that no one wanted to cross her. She hadn't been as tall and muscular, but it made her agile and fast, turning her into a worthy opponent. Clarisse worked her way up the career ladder with force, not letting anybody doubt her. Did she have to work a lot harder than if she were a man? Probably. Did it bother her? Sometimes. Especially when someone like Finley called her delicate and fragile, despite all the work she had put into becoming great.

"Thank you, Ludo," she said with a smile, allowing herself a moment of familiarity with her boss, something she hardly ever did.

The man looked pleased with her response and it made Clarisse relax completely. Knowing that her boss appreciated her enough to overlook some of her stunts made all the hard work worth it. She knew that if she decided to ignore his words regarding Finley, he would probably be forced to punish her somehow, but right now he sided with her and that made her relieved.

A comfortable silence settled between them, allowing Clarisse to retreat to her mind full of chaos. She felt incredibly eager to learn what the Forensics found, although she couldn't exactly call herself hopeful. The British Department had already investigated several murders and they came up empty handed. Riss knew better than to simply get her hopes up in a situation as bad as this one.

Deciding that thinking about it wasn't going to lead her to any new information, she shook her head and focused on different matters. How the hell was she going to work with Finley? Professionalism had always been one of her greatest traits and she had never expected to find herself in a situation such as this one.

Clarisse knew that swallowing her own pride will be difficult, but not impossible. She could forgive Aedan for calling her stupid, delicate, irresponsible and driven by emotions. But she really didn't think she had the strength to endure his looks full of contempt and superiority, just because she happened to be a woman.

Before she could have found a solution, her boss gestured her to walk into an elevator and said quietly:

"Stop thinking about Auror Finley. You two need to talk out your differences, simple as that."

"How did you know I was thinking about him?" she asked and raised her brows at her boss' amusement.

"Your face is red and you look like you're about to vomit."

"Funny," she snorted and smiled. "That's exactly what thinking about him makes me feel."

Her boss sighed and shook his head tiredly. The elevator door opened and Clarisse stepped outside, finding herself almost face to face with Herbert. Was he the only person working in that Department?

"Hello, Herbert," she greeted him and managed to smile politely, while the man stopped whatever he was doing to simply stare at her in awe.

"Um… Are you alright?" he finally asked, his face suddenly turning red.

She quirked her brow at him and said:

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You got my name right."

Well, he had every reason to be surprised at that.

"Oh," she said intelligently and scowled at her own brilliance. "Sorry, I'm terrible with names. I didn't want to mistake yours."

Deschamps snorted, clearly not believing a word she said. He wasn't going to comment on it, though, as he started to look at Herbert expectantly.

"Don't worry about it!" Herbert exclaimed brightly and clasped his hands together with excitement. "You're here about that murder, right?"

She nodded along with her boss and the Forensic Expert immediately rushed towards one of the many cabinets in the room. He took out a stash of colourful files and Clarisse frowned at the number of them. What the hell did they find?

"So…" Herbert started, but her boss raised his hand, stopping him.

"We need to wait for Auror Fabré," he said and looked at his pocket watch. "He's going to be here any minute now."

Clarisse wanted to slap herself as she realised that her temporary partner was supposed to get back from the UK today after she had left him there all alone, chasing a new clue that appeared after Finley presented her with the book. Of course, she hadn't left without saying her goodbyes, but her partner didn't look extremely happy about her departure.

After several minutes of uncomfortable silence and Herbert's intense stare fixed at her person, the door to the elevator opened once again and Antoine Fabré walked into the room, looking as dashingly handsome as always, dressed in his usual sky blue sweater that matched his eyes perfectly and a pair of jeans tight in all the right places. Clarisse wanted to sigh with appreciation, but decided against it, knowing that the basement was hardly the best place for flirting with her superiors.

"Auror Fabré," Deschamps greeted the newcomer in a stern tone and Fabré inclined his head politely.

"Auror Deschamps. Auror Bouchard," he said and looked at her with a smirk gracing his face.

Good. That meant he wasn't mad at her. She smiled back at him and then turned her focus back to Herbert, who kept watching her with a worried expression. What was his deal, huh?

"What did you find?" her boss asked, not wasting any more time.

Herbert snapped out of his thoughts and cleared his throat. He started to trace his finger over one of the papers he took from the shelve, while they watched him expectantly. Finally, he sighed and smiled dreamily, making Clarisse furrow her brows. Those people gave her serious creeps sometimes…

"Our results are incredibly fascinating," he stated and nodded to himself. "We have managed to confirm, that he magical trace found on our crime scene matches those from the Great Britain."

That wasn't fascinating at all. Clarisse had seen way too many things during her career not to know that there was only one killer. The cuts had been nearly identical, made by those exact same hands. She was sure of it. Everything else would have been coincidental and Clarisse didn't really believe in such things as coincidences.

"Yes, we already know that," her boss seemed to share her thoughts on the matter, as he looked incredibly annoyed. "We're looking for one killer."

"Well…", Herbert smiled proudly. "That's not correct. Not entirely anyway."

Clarisse narrowed her eyes and felt her muscles tense. Didn't he just say that the magical trace had been identical?

"I'm not sure I follow," she muttered and the Forensic Expert fidgeted excitedly.

"You see… The magical trace is exactly like the one in previous crimes, but the DNA doesn't match. Not exactly anyway"

"The what?" she asked and Herbert sighed.

"DNA. Deoxyribonucleic acid."

"Thanks for clearing that up, mate," Fabré muttered and Clarisse snorted with amusement.

"Meaning, we need you to explain things a little better," she added and Herbert scratched his head, trying to find the right words.

"You probably know that we all have magic inside of us. It heals us from all the Muggle diseases and it gives us the abilities they don't possess. But one thing we have in common is the DNA. It's a molecule that basically determines who we are. It is, of course, much more complicated than that, but it provides all the information about our bodies, starting from their functions to the way we look. There's also a theory that in our case, it also determines how much magic we possess," he explained with excitement and Clarisse found herself deeply interested by the topic, which surprised her greatly. "It's only a theory, though. No one is able to find the exact sequence responsible for it. I think it's Untraceable."

How did he know all these things? She didn't even understand some of his words and he had already simplified his explanation. Maybe she shouldn't underestimate those people from the basement, no matter how weird it sounded.

"The thing about the DNA is, that it's unique for every single person. Some parts of it can be similar or even matching someone else's, but it only happens when those people are related in some way. And I don't mean related by marriage, but by blood."

Clarisse noticed that no one beside her seemed to be interested in that scientific lecture, so she offered Herbert an apologetic smile and said:

"Listen, Herbert. This is incredibly fascinating, but could you by any chance get to the bottom of it?"

"You find that fascinating?" he asked, completely ignoring her polite request and she couldn't help but notice the excitement glinting in his brown eyes.

She had a feeling that she had just walked into a trap of some sorts, but it was already too late to do anything about it.

"Um… Sure. Very interesting."

"I could tell you more about it!" he offered and took a step forward. "Over dinner, or coffee?"

Shit. What was she supposed to say now? She couldn't simply turn him down after she had admitted that his lecture had been quite interesting. Even she wasn't that bitchy… Fabré laughed quietly and tried to mask it with a cough, but Clarisse had known better than to believe his pathetic attempt. She glared at him for a moment and then smiled at Herbert, hoping that it didn't look completely forced.

"That sounds alright. But it's not a date," she said and Herbert opened his mouth in pure shock.

"Did you just… Did you just…"

"Yes, she agreed," her boss snapped and rubbed his forehead with annoyance. "Can we just get on with it?"

It took him a while, but Herbert had finally come to his senses, clearing his throat and sporting a rather adorable blush all over his face.

"As I was saying…" he started quietly and looked through his papers, trying to find his words again. "Oh, right! The DNA sample we found on our crime scene matches the ones from the UK. But only partially."

"Are you trying to say that we have more than one killer on the loose and that they are related by blood?" Fabré asked with doubt lacing his voice and Clarisse couldn't help but share his attitude.

"Yes. And no."

"We don't have all day, boy," Deschamps growled and tapped his foot against the marbled floor with impatience.

"Well… The magical traces found on various crime scenes are identical and that happens only in rare cases of twins. The DNA, however, rules out that possibility, as it simply isn't possible for our killers to be twins. Distant relatives perhaps, but nothing more," Herbert said and smiled proudly.

"I think I'm too stupid for that," Clarisse whispered to Fabré and he gave her an amused look.

"That date of yours is going to be splendid, Riss," he answered and she elbowed him in the ribs.

"We already have one riddle to solve. Could you please start making sense?"

Ludovic rubbed his forehead tiredly and Herbert sighed, his pride visibly deflating.

"I have never encountered a case like this one before. We don't usually check for the DNA, since magic doesn't lie. The magical trace is as unique as the DNA. If we manage to match it to a person, we simply assume that this is our killer. Having said all that, I am absolutely positive that right now, we are looking for more than one killer and that they are related in some way. Except they share the exact same kind of magic, which points, yet again, to only one killer," he tried to explain once more and this time, Clarisse managed to follow his chain of thoughts.

"How is that possible, then? What are we dealing with?" she asked with her brows furrowed and Herbert opened his arms in a gesture full of defeat.

"I have no idea. We have searched the Archives, trying to find the answer, but there isn't one."

A silence full of tension settled into the room, as everyone tried to get a grasp on things coming out of Herbert's mouth. Deschamps seemed to be doing the worst job at it, as his face got red and he clearly wanted to strangle Herbert, judging by his clenched fists. The Forensic Expert must have noticed that as well, as he shifted nervously and swallowed hard.

"This is probably not the best moment to share the rest of our findings with you," he muttered.

"Speak," Deschamps ordered harshly, making Herbert flinch.

"Yes. We are kind of… Not sure, whether the DNA is even human," he stated and shook his head right after. "No, scratch that. The DNA is most certainly not human, but we seem to have problems determining its origins."

"Meaning what?" Fabre joined the conversation and Herbert offered him a reluctant look.

"Meaning, we have searched the entire database of the Magical Creatures for a matching DNA sample and we came up empty handed. There is no such creature."

Clarisse opened her mouth in shock and then closed it, realising she must have looked completely dumb. To be honest, she felt completely dumb at that moment. Not only because she had to believe Herbert without actually being able to confirm his words in any way, but also because his answers had left her only with the sense of powerlessness, rather than enlightenment.

"Are you saying that we are looking for more than one killer, both of them being unknown Magical Creatures so intelligent that they had managed to inflict the wounds with an expert precision?" her boss asked quietly, his voice sounding completely depleted of all the energy.

"I cannot rule out that possibility," Herbert admitted and shrugged. "There is also a chance that the magical trace belongs to your real killer and the saliva comes from the creature. Well, multiple creatures, as the DNA…"

"Yes, we got that part," Fabré waved his hand dismissively and bit his lip. "The second theory seems more reasonable, but it still doesn't make it sound any less mysterious and… bonkers."

Clarisse agreed with him wholeheartedly, as she felt a shiver running down her spine, leaving her with the feeling of uneasiness. Something about this entire case made her feel hopeless and she didn't like that one bit.

"There is something else you should know."

Herbert's voice sounded in the air, making all three Aurors tense visibly. What else was going to make their job even harder?

"Usually, after a Witch or a Wizard dies, the magic inside their bodies slowly dissipates, but the process takes a really long time. If we find victims without even a trace of magic, we consider them Muggles, just as we did in our victim's case," he said and laid down his stack of papers, only to pick up a small package resting on top of the nearby table.

To everyone's surprise, the package contained a wand, maybe ten or eleven inches long. Clarisse felt her heart thump against her chest, when she realised what was going to come out of Herbert's mouth next.

"We wanted to make sure that the girl wasn't a part of our world, so we sent her picture to all the wandmakers in Paris. Analise Le Roux confirmed that she had sold that wand to our victim seventeen years ago. The girl's name was Flavienne Deniel. Her parents had already confirmed her identity. Our victim had most definitely been a witch. And yet, we found no traces of magic inside her body."

"I'm getting sick of that fucking case," Fabré hissed and clenched his fists. "Why didn't she have any magic inside her body?"

"We don't know. According to everything I learned, it's not even possible."

Clarisse took a sharp intake of breath, trying to calm her raging heart. She could deal with a lot of things. Death, blood, pain; she got used to all of it, making her think she had found the answers to all the questions that bugged her. But this? How could she find an answer to that? How could she explain the unexplainable?